


knowing me, knowing you

by redtruthed



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Amnesia, Gen, PTSD, merc for hire au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2019-10-20 15:24:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17624930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redtruthed/pseuds/redtruthed
Summary: Jason Todd used to be dead. But now he’s alive, working as an mercenary-for-hire whilst he waits for his memories to return. He remembers exactly three things about himself: one, that he is nineteen years old. Two, that he woke up under the care of Talia Al Ghul. Three, that he’s really, REALLY good at killing people.His next target: Bruce Wayne.





	1. he who hunts the night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! i uploaded this seperately as a one-shot, but since people seemed to really like it, i decided to rewrite and reupload it, this time with the intention of writing it as a full, multi-chaptered fic! sorry for the confusion. and thanks for supporting me loves <3

i.

The sky hangs low with rain. Inside, the café is packed, and full of life despite the downpour outside. Jason should feel grateful. After all, covers like this are hard to find. The League taught him that much. Cliched areas, like train stations and street corners, catch attention. But places like this- where signs of life are loud and abundant- provide the perfect cover.

They also put Jason on edge.

He doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s the fact that, in places like this, it’s easy to feel vulnerable. Weapons are hard to conceal under a hoodie. And it’s hard to work in such small proximity. With so many people around…situations can quickly get out of hand. The sooner he gets out of this place, the better.

“Would you like that topping up, sweetheart?”

Jason looks up. The waitress is standing next to his table. She’s five foot four. Thin. Married. With a thick scar over her left knee. From a past surgery? From an injury? Either way, it’s where Jason’s going to strike first if this goes south. He clears his throat, blinking.

“I’m fine, thanks.”

He glances at the coffee cup in front of him. He can’t have it topped up. Having it topped up could lead to poisoning. Jason’s immune to most toxins on the planet, thanks to his time with the League. But that doesn’t mean he’s eager to try another. Who knows what repercussions that could have. For him, for Talia…

Besides. He’s got a job to do.

“Just holler if you need anything,” the waitress says, friendly enough.

Jason watches her walk away. And then he frowns- because she’s dropped something next to his table. He instinctively reaches for the knife in his hoodie sleeve, prepared to attack in case this is a diversion. When he’s certain that it’s not, he stoops down, slips it into the magazine on his table and looks the other way.

Jason pretends to sip his coffee. And then, after he’s sure the coast is clear once more, he opens the magazine. The card is sitting atop an article about Gotham’s most Eligible Bachelors. It’s blank aside for four words:

BRUCE WAYNE.

BY WEDNESDAY.

Jason blinks, rolls the magazine up once more, and leaves. The finding part- the hard part- is finally over. And now he can breathe again.

-

ii.

Bruce Wayne is holding a charity ball tonight. It’s dress-up, which makes things easier. It’s being televised, which makes things harder. But it doesn’t make killing him impossible. Jason has keys to all four floors of the city hall, thanks to a member of the cleaning staff called Jerry. A few hours from now, Jerry will wake up outside of his home, naked and with no recollection of how he got there. In the wake of Bruce Wayne’s assassination, he will most likely be arrested. But that’s no matter to Jason. By the time the dust settles, he will already be gone.

He slips in at nine thirty sharp. The building is bright and lavishly decorated. The guests are dressed as many things. Jason doesn’t pay attention to them. Unless they question him, they are not important. Luckily for him, he’s unnoticeable amidst the glitz and glamour. After all, who would notice a simple cleaning man when there are chocolate fountains to look at? Or billionaires dressed as soda cans?

The third floor contains a balcony. This is where Jason sets up his hiding place- out of shot of the cameras and far from the observation deck. He unloads the dart gun from the cleaning cart and starts calculating his shot. Wayne isn’t hard to spot. He’s making his way to the podium on stage, dressed as a hot dog. The people around him seem to find this hilarious. To the left stands the mayor, and to the right stands the commissioner.

 _Jim,_  Jason thinks.

He scowls, sitting back. Where did that come from? The Commissioner of Gotham City’s name is James. It’s always been James. Never Jim.

Jason shakes his head and watches on. Beside the commissioner is his daughter, who’s talking to one of Bruce Wayne’s children.  _Richard Grayson,_  Jason thinks. And beside him- several others. Cassandra Cain. Timothy Drake. Stephanie Brown. Duke Thomas. He’s read their profiles. He knows their names.

 _But they’re not important now_ _._ _What’s important is taking the shot, fulfilling the contract._ He breathes out heavily and takes aim. Wayne’s neck is an easy shot from here. Stupidly, Wayne has left a gap in his hot dog suit. This mistake will be his last.

Wayne begins his speech on property development and goodwill. Just before Jason takes the shot, a boy rushes onto the side of the stage, face beet red. He’s late. Why is he late?

 _It doesn’t matter,_  Jason hisses to himself.  _Take the shot. Take it._

But he can’t. He’s looking at the boy. And for a split second, the boy’s face turns to the light.

 _Damian Wayne,_  Jason thinks, mind whirring. _Damian al Ghul. Grandson of the demon._

_Heir to the bat._

Jason’s fingers slip. The dart shoots forward, landing uselessly in the stage. But this doesn’t go unnoticed. The boy rushes forward to protect his father. Wayne’s bodyguards flood the stage. Jason’s chance becomes ashes. He runs, erasing his presence as quickly as he can, knowing that that stupid, ridiculous second of hesitance ruined everything. Why did he take pause? He knows better than that. He’s  _always_  known better than that.

 _Quiet, lamb._  Talia’s voice sounds in the back of his mind.  _Escape first. Mourn later._


	2. he who breathes in shadow

iii.

Jason takes the next bus to Chinatown. It’s Friday night, beyond packed- and another perfect cover. He can almost feel Talia’s eyes on his neck, glinting with approval. But it doesn’t mean it isn’t uncomfortable for Jason. It’s the same thing as before, just amplified. Too many loose cannons. Too many threats. Pair that with failure and an unshakeable feeling of unease and you’ve got a terrible evening all around.

He walks quickly, the bag on his back digging into his shoulders. He hasn’t felt this shaky in a long while. But deep down he knows he has no reason to feel this way. Sure, he failed to kill Wayne. But he isn’t being followed, and he disposed of the clothes- and the weapon- long ago. And the people around him are far too drunk to pay attention to some teenager walking home on his own, feet stomping on the pavement…

But maybe it’s not the failure that’s eating away at him. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s fairly certain that Damian Wayne is the son of not only Talia Al Ghul, but Batman. And that would mean…

No. _No._ That’s ridiculous. Wayne adopts _all_ of his children. And there must be some reason, some motive, behind Talia letting Wayne do the same with Damian. He was born to be the Batman, after all. And where better place would there be for him to grow up…but the city he would grow up to inherit? It makes sense, in a strange sort of way. In a _Talia_ sort of way.

But why Wayne? Why…now?

Jason hasn’t seen Damian since he was a new-born. He was hidden away, under levels of security not even Jason could breach. And the chances are he could still be with the League. It would make sense. More sense than Bruce motherfucking Wayne being the Batman…

 _What the Hell is wrong with me?_ He thinks.  _Did I do something wrong?_

The dark doesn’t answer him. It never does. All it does is leave him with more questions. Questions he never had before taking on this case.

If that isn’t a reason to kill Wayne, Jason doesn’t know what is.

-

iv.

A day passes. For Jason, it is a day filled with surveillance, planning, and strategy. For Wayne, it is a day of reassurance. Jason knows this not because of secret intel, or the moles he has planted at Wayne Tower. He knows this because for the past twenty four hours, Bruce Wayne has been absolutely everywhere.

He’s been on billboards. He’s been on tv. Fuck- he’s even in the magazines Jason uses to light the fireplace. He’s blabbering on about how _no-one was hurt_ and how _the GCPD are working hard to resolve the situation_ and how _no-one should be concerned_. Hah. The GCPD couldn’t find a carrot dangling right in front of their nose if they had to. And then Wayne started talking about how whoever committed the crime should turn themselves in…as if that’s going to happen. If Jason didn’t want to slit his throat before, he certainly does now.

Luckily for Jason, Wayne has made himself incredibly easy to track. Painfully so. Its as if the man wants to be killed. Jason has until Wednesday to grant Wayne’s wish. And he’s never, _ever_ missed a deadline.

-

v.

At precisely four p.m, that afternoon, a parcel slips through Jason’s door. He stands from the sofa he was napping on, picks up the closest weapon to hand- a katana- and walks, wielding it, towards the door. There’s no-one standing outside, but he checks anyway. Then, he picks up the parcel, looking for a return address.

There is none.

Jason opens the parcel. Out falls a circular disk, no bigger than the palm of his hand. A wave of discomfort immediately takes hold. He knows League gear when he sees it. He also knows a command when he sees it. He raises it to his eye, allowing it to scan his retina. And when he lowers it again, a hologram of Talia Al Ghul rises from its centre.

“Talia,” he says, stiffly.

“Lamb,” she says, voice filled with warmth. “You’ve been shaving.”

“I don’t like stubble,” Jason says, and scowls. “Why are you calling me?”

“Why, lamb, you almost sound surprised,” she says.

“I am.”

“It’s no worry,” she bats a hand. “I am as well. You hold so many safehouses at the moment…I feared this wouldn’t reach you.”

“You’ve been keeping tabs on me,” Jason says, borderline accusatory. He’s not surprised. He just hoped that after all the years he spent there…the League would have at least a little bit of trust in him.

Turns out he was wrong.

“Of course I have,” Talia says. “You left the League in quite a hurry. I was worried.”

Jason purses his lips. “This is about Wayne, isn’t it?”

Talia crosses her arms. “Yes.”

“You can’t stop me killing him.”

“I think we both know that’s not true.”

“It’s a contract,” Jason says. “I made an agreement. I have to fulfil it.”

“And I am asking you not to.”

“Why?”

“Because Wayne is important,” Talia says. “That’s why.”

“I don’t care about your games, Talia.”

“You are messing with forces greater than you know,” Talia says.

“I don’t care.”

“Jason,” Talia says, warning. “Wayne is under protection.”

“Yours?” Jason raises an eyebrow. “Or his own? Because I can take him out. We both know I can. Unless there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Jason,” Talia repeats. Her eyes are dark, even over the hologram. “If you attack Wayne again…you will unearth more than what you bargained for. You’ve played your mercenary games. Let this go.”

Jason thinks about it. And then a great, burning sense of anger rises in him. One that feels familiar. But where from? And when?

“No,” he says.

He stays on the call long enough to see Talia’s expression turn rotten. And then he throws it to the ground and grinds it to as many pieces as he can. The anger is pulsing through him now. Blinding him. He tries to think of the calm Talia once established in him, but all he can see is the green of the Lazarus pit, and the sneer of Bruce Wayne, and a flash of green hair-

Jason stills, gasping for air. Green hair? Why the fuck would he picture _green hair_ in a moment like this?

It doesn’t matter. All that matters is finishing the job. And if he manages to kill Wayne, Talia might finally start taking him seriously. And he can finally start to unbury who he was…after all of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! if you're enjoying the fic or liked this chapter, please consider leaving a comment down below! it gives me inspiration and encouragement to write more, and lets me know what people think! also, as per usual, more comments = faster updates. <3
> 
> i'm on tumblr! come yell at me! @redtruthed!


	3. he who chases light

vi.

Bruce Wayne leaves a press conference at six pm sharp. Jason watches from the rooftops as Wayne walks, in plain sight, from the door of the Gotham Herald to his car. He’s wearing a dark blue suit. His bodyguards are present but trailing behind. They’re ridiculously bulky men, at least six foot in size- and trained well, from the looks of things. The distance must be on purpose. And as Wayne’s limo departs the Herald, two poorly disguised police cars follow suit. They’re being cautious- but not as cautious as they could be.

Why?

Jason follows them- by foot- from rooftop to rooftop. About eight blocks down, the police cars circle back to GCPD, and Wayne’s car continues alone. Another mistake. Or maybe it’s just bait. Either way, Jason can’t help but take it. Irregularities in cases usually make him back off. But this one’s got him intrigued. All these theatrics- they have to be for a reason. They must be.

Wayne abandons the car and his bodyguard at a side street and walks, with an older man by his side, towards the Park Row graveyard. _Now_ Jason’s interested. He climbs to the roof of the crematorium and waits, gun in hand. He could easily take the shot from here. It’s starting to snow, so no-one’s around. His current position is an easy shot- only seven metres away, possible for Jason with his eyes tightly closed. And if push comes to shove, he’s sure the man by Wayne’s side won’t be much of a problem to deal with either. But his curiosity has been piqued now. He has to see what Wayne’s up to. And why Talia favours his life so much…

Wayne and his companion stop in front of a grave. It’s small, but well maintained. A few frozen flowers sit in front of the headstone. Wayne stoops, removing them, before crouching there a while, his bare hand pressed to the gravestone. Jason scowls further. What’s going on? Wayne’s parents aren’t buried here. They’re on Wayne’s estate, far from public view. So who is he mourning? A colleague? An unfortunate ex?

Wayne’s companion hands him a new bouquet and places his hand on Wayne’s shoulder. Jason’s frown lightens suddenly. He knows that silhouette. He knows that hand.

_Alfie._

Jason’s hand falls slack. In this brief moment of stupidity, his gun falls from the roof and clatters onto the grass below. Both Wayne and his companion startle.

Jason presses his back flat against the roof, heart thumping. What a stupid mistake of him to make! Stupid, stupid, stupid! Just because he thought he recognised the old man didn’t mean he had to put the entire mission at stake! What the fuck is wrong with him?

He waits until he can hear footsteps before peeking over the edge of the roof. Wayne and his companion are gone. Their footprints lead to the gate of the cemetery, and, along with Jason’s chances, Wayne’s car is gone. Damnit! Jason huffs angrily to himself, climbs from the roof to collect his gun…before remembering something.

He still doesn’t know who Wayne was mourning.

And for some reason, he _needs_ to know. So he abandons the gun, walks across the cemetery, and finds the grave Wayne was looking at. The headstone and flowers are cold to the touch; already coated in snow. Jason stoops, wiping the surface clean. And at first the words resting there don’t make sense to him. And then they do.

_JASON TODD-WAYNE._

_DEEPLY MISSED._

-

vii.

Jason spends his night running from rooftop to rooftop, trying to find focus. He’s stuck between calling Talia, killing Wayne where he stands, and having a breakdown. The latter is taking over. Every time he tries to quiet his mind, a mantra begins within it, chanting over and over, again and again and again…

_I am the son of Bruce Wayne._

_I am the son of Bruce Wayne._

_I? Am the son? Of Bruce Wayne?_

His first question is when. When was he adopted? When did he die? And _why._ Why did Talia keep this from him? Why isn’t his name in public record? How did he die?

Did Wayne really live him behind? To a life like this?

What the fuck. He put anything in order. What the _fuck._ Nothing makes sense. Nothing. And he can’t stop running. If he stops, he’s going to break. If he stops, he’ll have nothing. All he has is the movement of the moment. Tying him down. Keeping him steady. Reminding him of what is real and what is not…

He stops on the roof of a condo a few minutes later, unable to breathe. The only problem with League masks is that they’re not mental breakdown proof. Jason flings his onto the roof and gulps his first breaths of fresh, cold air for hours.

“What do you want with Bruce Wayne?”

Jason turns, heart thumping, to find the bat of Gotham standing in front of him. No. Not only Gotham’s bat. But _Talia’s_ bat. _Damian’s_ bat. He’s a lot taller than they made him out to be. Larger, too. Nothing Jason can’t handle, with a bit of distance. But gaining distance might just be a problem…

“Do not make me ask you again,” the bat says.

His voice is thick and rough. To a common thug it might sound intimidating. But Jason is no common thug. He’s served under the Al Ghuls for three years flat. For him, bowing to any sort of fear is a foreign concept.

He will, however, bow to common sense. Jason turns, weighing his options, before leaping from the roof. He falls freely for a second. And then one of the bat’s grapples wraps itself around his ankle, yanking him up like a fishing rod, and throwing him roughly back onto the roof.

“I know you were at city hall,” the bat says. He’s towering over Jason now, face shrouded in shadow. “I know you were at the cemetery.”

Jason reaches for his gun. Batman slaps it away and grabs the cuff of Jason’s armour, picking him up by it.

“What do you want with Wayne?” Batman asks. “Who are you?”

Jason struggles to get loose. In doing so, his face moves into the light, and Batman’s expression shifts from fury to downright shock.

“J-Jay?” He asks, unexpectedly. “Is that you?”

“What?” Jason asks.

Batman loosens his grip. He opens and closes his mouth, blubbering. Jason knows an opportunity when he sees one. He drives his legs into Batman’s torso, breaks free, and smashes a smoke pellet onto the ground. Jason knows that in a normal state, Batman would be able to evade this easily. Or so he’s heard. But Batman must really not be on his A game today. Because, by the time the smoke has cleared, he’s standing alone. And Jason is far from him once more.


	4. he who cries for fire

viii.

Questions are rarely asked about jobs. But when they need be asked, there is one place to ask them. 

Jason has never needed to before. His record, until now, until Bruce- has been squeaky clean. He has never asked a question about a job in his life. Before, he just planned and pulled the trigger. But now, he’s desperate. He’s skittish. And it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out what happens to skittish mercenaries.

-

ix.

It’s raining when he makes it to the phone booth, and late- far too late for someone not trained in forty-six different fighting styles to be in central Gotham. He’s grateful for this, though. In any other place, he’d arouse suspicion. In any other _weather_ , he’d arouse suspicion. But this is Gotham, so anything goes. He loves that about it, in a strange sort of way.

Each member of his society gets a number to call. He dials his, and waits. There’s a short pause, in which calypso music plays, and Jason’s breaths turn white in the cold. After that, an equally cold voice breaks the silence.

“Speak.”

“Fresh meadow,” Jason says, as quietly as possible.

“You have passed the test.” The voice says. “State your query.”

“I need a new case.”

“You have one case outstanding.”

“I need a new one.”

“State your issue.”

“Subject is-” Jason pauses, trying to think of the words. “Subject is unavailable.”

“Your subject is within the city limits.”

“Subject is- fuck. I just need a new one.”

“Would you like to be passed on to a human operator?”

“Fuck! Yes. Yes, I would,” Jason presses his head against the glass. “That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

There’s a few more seconds of calypso music. And then-

“T18! So nice to hear from you, buddy!”

“I need a new subject.”

“So I heard.”

The ones in charge are always so fake friendly. To this day Jason is not sure why.

“Can you-” Jason pinches the bridge of his nose. “Can you secure a reallocation?”

“Are you compromised, buddy?”

Jason thinks of the Bat, and how the Bat knew his name. He thinks about what they would do to him if they knew. “No.”

“Well, then, business as usual, I’m afraid!” The man carries on. “We all can’t pick and choose what we get in life, T18!”

“But I need-” Jason hisses, and then stops himself. “I need someone else.”

“If you need someone else, we no longer need you,” the man says. “Comprende?”

Jason clenches his jaw. “Yes.”

“Goodie!” The man says, happy as ever. “Is there anything else I can help ya with?”

“No.”

“Well, then. Have a lovely day!” The man continues. “Oh, and be sure to remember the date!”

There’s a brief pause, and then the man hangs up. Jason clenches the phone so hard it might snap. Then, he puts it back on its holder, leans forward in the phonebooth, and emits a breaking, hoarse sob.

-

x.

Bruce Wayne is hosting a gala tonight. It is in honour of one of his charities, apparently. On the one hand, Jason can’t attend. The Bat is onto him, and if he’s caught, he’s probably toast. On the other, if Jason doesn’t attend, he’s _definitely_ toast. Jason knows what odds he favours.

The gala is held at Wayne’s ridiculous manor. There’s cars absolutely everywhere when Jason arrives. Shiny cars, holding shiny people, holding shiny glasses. It’s _ridiculous_ . They’re too busy looking at each other and at themselves to even _consider_ Jason as he sneaks on by. Part of the reason this Wayne business is annoying him so much is because usually, rich people are so easy to kill. Everyone knows it. They’re shallow, vain, and if they actually put work to achieving anything they got in life they’d be a lot harder to kill.

And geez, they’d certainly have better security. For a man who nearly got shot a few days prior, Wayne is seriously slacking on the security department. He must be getting cocky. Either that...or this is a trap. Jason seriously doubts it, though. Wayne, putting the rest of his fellow rich brats at risk? Not likely. Anyway. Jason’s dressed as a waiter, so even if it is a trap, they’re unlikely to spot him anyway. People never notice the help. This is another fact everyone knows.

For the first half hour, Jason waits on the obnoxious crowd arriving. For the next twenty minutes, he offers them drinks while they wait for Wayne and his family to arrive. For the next ten minutes, not a single Wayne manages to show. And that’s when Jason gets suspicious.

It’s not unusual for him to get suspicious. But paired with his existing impatience about this job, and the thoughts already present in the back of his mind- _if I’m Wayne’s son, am I entitled to his wealth? Shouldn’t I be living here? Shouldn’t I have a room upstairs? Shouldn’t I be warm? Safe? Happy? -_ it slowly evolves into more than he can bear.

He puts the drinks away and backs into one of the side corridors. He unties his tie and unpockets his knife. He rips his stick on moustache off and clenches his jaw.

The corridor is dark, but he is not alone. He _feels_ it.

“I know you’re there,” he says, into the shadow.

Wayne emerges in a three-piece suit, but Jason knows just from his face that he never planned to go on stage. This was all a trap. A trap laid out for him.

“I just want to talk,” Wayne says. He puts his hands in the air.

“Who else is here?”

“No-one else is here,” Wayne says. His face is empty and open. “It’s just us.”

Jason clutches the knife closer. His heart is hammering and he is not sure why. He wants to run. He wants to _run._

“There’s no need to panic,” Wayne says. “Nothing is going to happen.”

Jason looks at Wayne’s neck. “Something’s going to happen, all right.”

“Alright,” Wayne says, quietly. “Alright.”

“Stop it,” Jason hisses.

A frown from Wayne this time. “Stop what?”

“Stop _that._ Stop trying. Stop trying to placate me.”

Wayne’s face softens. “Alright.”

Jason tells himself to just do it. To just rush in, and do it. Wayne’s unarmed, untrained. It should be easy!

But he can’t. He’s frozen, somehow. Sick to the stomach at the thought of it. At the thought of doing _anything_ to Wayne right now. And that only sickens him more and more.

“Jason,” Wayne says. He takes a couple of slow steps forward, his arms outstretched. “Please. _Sweetheart.”_

“Get away from me,” Jason snaps, retreating- despite the fact he has the knife. “I am not your son. I am not your sweetheart.”

Wayne looks genuinely wounded at that. But he steps forward anyway, his eyes blue and wide. “Put the knife down. We can talk.”

“I am going to kill you,” Jason says.

“Jason.”

“I am going to kill you,” Jason repeats. He’s crying now. Trembling, all over. _If you don’t do it, they’ll kill you. If you don’t do it, they’ll kill you._ “I am going to kill you!”

“Alright,” Wayne says, completely calm. “Alright.”

He gets to his knees, stares at the floor, and says- “Do it.”

Jason is completely thrown by this. He feels like a wave of ice has just washed over him. “What?”

“Do it. I’m not going to stop you.”

Wayne tilts his head to the side. His neck is pale in the dark. Jason clutches the knife tight. He can do it. He knows how. It’s an easy incision. And it will be quick. Painless. _Easy,_ for the both of them. But why would he want to make it easy for Wayne? Wayne abandoned him. Wayne _must’ve_ abandoned him. No normal kid ends up with the League. No normal kid ends up being Jason.

“One easy cut.” Wayne continues. His eyes are shut now. “I trust you know how.”

“Stop.” Jason hisses. He’s crying even harder. Silent, red-hot tears leaking onto the carpet. 

“The chance is right here. Right here, in front of you.”

 _“Stop,”_ Jason begs. 

He clutches the knife tighter and tighter, willing himself to move. But he can’t. So he drops the knife entirely and stares at it. Horrified.

“I don’t know what I am,” he admits, although he’s not sure why. It slips out of him before he can take it back.

“I know what you are,” Wayne says, opening his eyes. He reaches a hand out to Jason. “Stay. _Talk_ to me.”

Jason looks at the hand for a second. And then a door opens behind them, flooding the hallway with light. It’s all the excuse Jason needs to run. And so he does.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yooo im sorry i took so long to update this i kinda got in a rut but hey im out now!! more comments = quicker updates!! (and i actually MEAN it this time!! i wanna see how many of yall actually remember this fic aw man i am honestly so so sorry!!)
> 
> big love as always!! nd follow me on tumblr!! redtruthed as always!  
> <3


	5. he who longs for doubt

ix.

At 3:00AM the next day, a League of Assassins scout is found dead.

Five hours later, Talia Al Ghul arrives at Jason’s door.

She’s dressed in black. Jason knows better than to think it’s in mourning. She walks in without knocking, and tuts at the mess on the floor. This is his fifth safehouse. The untidy one. If he’d been feeling patient, he would’ve made sure she came to the sixth. The professional one. But Jason isn’t feeling patient anymore. Besides. One can never truly make Talia Al Ghul do anything, or go anywhere, anyway.

She finds him on the sofa, in his pyjamas. A gun rests openly in his hand.

Talia scoffs, stepping into the light. “I hope that’s not for me.”

“Depends how well this meeting goes.”

“I doubt you’d be able to hit me.”

“I never miss.”

“Oh,” Talia’s face crosses into glee. “So is that why Bruce Wayne still breathes?”

The sheer mention of his name sends ripples through Jason. Ripples of pain and grief. “Who is he?”

Talia’s eyes glow with victory. “So you’re intrigued, now?”

“More than intrigued.” Jason says. “We met.”

Talia raises an eyebrow. And then she draws up a chair and takes a seat on it.

“To have this conversation, you know,” she says, messing with a strand of her hair. “You did not have to kill my best scout.”

“She was not your ‘best scout’,” Jason says, grimacing. “And she’s not dead.”

“There was a body.” Talia tilts her head slightly. “And eight pints of blood.”

“Not her body. And not enough to die.” Jason cocks a thumb behind him. “She’s in the closet.”

Talia smirks slowly. “I never cease to be amazed by you.”

“Nice to know. Who’s Bruce Wayne?”

Talia inhales a long, sharp breath. And then she stands, clasping her hands. Turning her back to Jason in the belief he won’t shoot her. (Then again, how could he ever?)

“Bruce Wayne is one of the richest men in America,” she begins. “He is an orphan. He is a philanthropist.”

“I’ve read the wiki,” Jason hisses.

Talia sends him a sharp look. The kind of look that says- _interrupt me one more time and I will vivasect you._ Jason shuts up.

“He is a philanthropist-” Talia continues- “And the father of my children.”

Jason stares at the wall. He blinks. And then he says- “Damian?”

“You remember,” Talia says, warmly. She chuckles, facing the window once more. “I almost thought you had forgotten.”

“I could never forget my time with the League.”

“Not many can,” Talia says. “Yes. He is the second son Wayne and I share. The heir to the bat. The prodigy.”

“And the first?”

Talia looks at Jason, pointedly. “You haven’t figured it out by now?”

Jason stands up. “Whoa. No.”

Talia shakes her head. “Here we go.”

“I am _not_ his son.”

“Aren’t you?” Talia asks. “Did you not see the tombstone? Did you not come to his house last night?”

“I came to his house to _kill him._ ” Jason says. “I came to the graveyard to _kill him_.”

“And yet you failed.” Talia says, sitting back down. “Why is that?”

Jason looks down at her, his heart racing.

“I think we both know why.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Talia watches him intently. “You’re starting to remember.”

“Stop.”

“It’s coming back, isn’t it?”

_“Stop.”_

Jason sits down, his head in his hands. Talia places a hand upon one of them.

“When I contacted you days ago, I told you not to kill Wayne. This was partly...for my own sake, I must admit.” She says, voice low. “I did not want the father of my youngest to die when they have only just reconciled. But it was also for you.”

“There’s nothing between me and Wayne,” Jason says, anguished. “Nothing.”

“But there was.” Talia rubs Jason’s hands. “And there is still. For him.”

Jason looks up, vulnerable. “I don’t know why you won’t just _tell_ me.”

“It is not my story to tell,” Talia says. “I played but a small role in all of this.”

“You say that,” Jason says, looking down again. “But when I awoke. When I came to you, years ago. You said you brought me back.”

There’s a stone cold silence. Talia retracts her hands and looks away. Jason looks up at her, his mind working overtime.

“Talia,” he says, breathing heavily. “Was I dead? Was I dead for real?”

“Lamb,” Talia says. A shielded warning.

But Jason’s not having it. Not anymore.

“The first memory I have is waking up in your arms. Of you...of you telling me I’d be safe. And that you’d help me.”

“Lamb…”

“You made a promise, Talia,” Jason says, eyes watering. “You made a promise to me.”

Talia looks down. “...I know.”

“Fulfill it,” Jason states. “Help me.”

Talia watches him for a few moments, biting her lip. And then she sits up, composing herself. Bracing them both for the truth.

“Before that memory you have of me, you were dead. Murdered.”

It doesn’t shock Jason as much as it should. “By who?”

“Lamb,” Talia warns, this time sterner.

“By who?” Jason asks. “Wayne?”

“It matters not who.” Talia presses, taking his hand. “Your death took you away from your father. Until a few days ago, I am certain he did not have the slightest idea you were alive.”

“That’s why he didn’t come for me,” Jason says, the pieces aligning.

“Yes.”

“You kept me a secret.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I…” Talia bites her lip. “I did not want him reunited with you...so soon.”

“Why?” Jason asks. “Did you think you could fix me? Did you think you could wrap me up in a beautiful little present as a gift to him? As a gift, to make him happy?”

“No,” Talia snarls. “Of course not.”

“Then why?”

“I will say this only once,” Talia says, in a hush. “The circumstances of your death could have been prevented. They could have been prevented by many people- Bruce Wayne included. I am not so eager to return a child to someone who has made so many blatant, obvious mistakes with them before. Especially lethal ones.”

Jason sits back on the sofa. His head hurts. “You could’ve told me.”

“You were not ready.” Talia states. “I am still not sure if you are ready now.”

Jason holds his head in his hands once more. Talia sighs, sitting next to him.

“Lamb,” she says, voice soft. “I am not saying that I have not made my own mistakes in raising you. I sculpted you ready for the world, and I will never be ashamed of that. I let you get involved with that garish society, a fact that haunts us both to this day. But I have not let you die. I will never let you die. Ever.”

“They want me to kill Wayne,” Jason says. “If I don’t, they’ll kill me.”

“I will not let that happen.”

“You have to,” Jason states. “One way or another. You can’t meddle with the society. No-one on our side of the tracks can.”

Talia looks at him a moment. And then she puts her hand on his shoulder, squeezing tightly. “Talk to Bruce. He may be able to help in ways I cannot.”

“Like what?” Jason scowls. 

“Ask.”

“Talia, he’s a cashed-up idiot who spends half his time partying and the other half adopting people,” Jason hisses. “There’s nothing he can do I can’t.”

“Except be on the right side of the tracks,” Talia says.

Jason scowls. “The fuck’d you mean by-”

The lights flicker off. 

“That?”

By the time the lights turn on again, she is gone. A few minutes later, he receives a text from an unknown number to one of his burner phones.

_CRIME ALLEY._

_TRUST._

-

x.

Jason lets the League of Assassins Scout out of his wardrobe and heads right there. It’s a disgusting place. There’s rats absolutely everywhere, all he can smell is sewer piss mixed with the popcorn of the Monarch Theatre...and by the time he arrives, he witnesses at least four muggings, two stabbings and a shoot-out. He doesn’t come to this part of Gotham much, and neither does anyone else. No-one who has a say in the matter, anyway.

He stands at the top of the alley, breathing deep. He sees nothing; hears nothing. He gets out his gun and paces for a little while more. And then-

_“Just what do you think you’re doing?”_

_Holding a crowbar. Thinking fast. Wheels nearly off. Heartbeat loud._

_“Oops.”_

_“I sincerely hope you weren’t trying to steal my car.”_

The memories hit Jason like a battering ram. He can’t think, breathe or move. Doing anything at all feels like a stab to the gut. Or is it a hit to the head?

_He’s dropping the crowbar. Crowbar. Picking up the crowbar. Slamming it into Jason’s skull- battering his nerves raw- making him see green- green green green green green-_

“What are you doing here?”

Jason looks up, choking. In his confusion, a short, green-costumed boy has snuck up on him. 

Robin, Jason thinks. God. Why does that name make him want to vomit?

“Nothing,” Jason says, heart still racing. “I was just leaving.”

“I don’t think so.”

Jason recognises that voice. That posture, even. And in a split second, his mind makes two very important, sudden connections-

_That’s Damian. Damian’s Robin._

_Holy fuck. Bruce Wayne is Batman._

Suddenly, Jason’s got a lot more important shit to do then hang around Crime Alley. He’s got to replan this whole thing. And, most importantly, he’s got to run.

“I’ve gotta go.”

“I can’t let that happen.”

“Dami, please,” Jason says. “Just let me go.”

He doesn’t realise what he’s said before Robin’s face goes lax. And then he steps forward, his eyes wide behind the mask, and his posture careful.

“It _is_ you!” He exclaims. “I thought I recognised you before- from the images in the cave- but everyone told me there was no way- that there _possibly_ couldn’t have been a way it was you! I should never have believed- I knew you better than they did, after all- and you were there for so much of my childhood, and I- mother- she never told me your name! No matter how many years we spent together! And I tried to find you, after. I searched absolutely _everything_. I pleaded mother to let me know where you were, or who you are, but she never-”

Damian pauses for a second, thinking. And then he holds up a weapon and scowls.

“Is mother here with you?”

“No.” Jason says.

“You’ve spoken to her regularly?”

“Yes.” Jason rolls his eyes. “What does it matter?”

“I’m sorry, Jason,” Damian says. “But you have to come with me.”

He throws the weapon at Jason. It’s sphere shaped- metallic, hollow-sounding. It bounces uselessly off Jason’s leg and onto the ground.

Jason looks at Damian, appalled. “All those years training with Talia- training with _me-_ and that’s the best you can do?”

Damian’s mouth becomes a stiff line. “Yes.”

Jason snorts. And then the ball explodes, tasering Jason in the process. He’s got quite a good level of invulnerability to things like this. But they had the same training. So Damian knows the exact frequency to bring Jason to his knees without killing him.

 _Classic Damian,_ Jason thinks, as he falls, floppily, to the ground. He missed Damian, but he sure as Hell didn’t miss this. A part of him wanted to confront him right away, after he saw him at Bruce Wayne’s charity ball. But he couldn’t. He knew Damian would be disappointed in him, somehow. Disappointed in what he’d become.

And hey ho! As it turns out, he was right!

Damian stands over him for a moment, scanning Jason for weapons and sighing.

“I am sorry about this,” he says. 

 _Sure you are, you little shit._ Jason thinks, as Damian drags him over to his bike. _Sure you are._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more comments = more updates!


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